


a thing of beauty

by fabulousnotion



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Will, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Hand Jobs, Hands, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Psychological Manipulation, depictions of blood, depictions of violence, encephalitis!will, hannibal taking advantage of will feeling unstable, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulousnotion/pseuds/fabulousnotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will comes to awareness at a crime scene where he isn't sure whether it's of his own making. Hannibal helps him figure it out (and cleans him up).</p>
            </blockquote>





	a thing of beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kafeiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafeiro/gifts).



It starts with blood.

 

There's a smear of it on Will Graham's cheek as the familiar Bentley approaches. It's on his hands, rich and red, even though the majority of it has dried on his flesh. He's not sure how Hannibal managed to figure out where he was from the disjointed phone call that he made, but he's there, stepping out of his car and making a slow stride to Will's makeshift seat in a small clearing off a beaten path in the woods. It's late, and he's sure he roused Hannibal from sleep, but he doesn't look it, not as he crouches down in front of Will. It's a soft, confident expression that Hannibal wears – and as Will looks closer he might even call it _proud_.

 

There was a sheer terror that had built into Will over the past... he's not even sure how long it has been since he called Hannibal. Time was lost to him, and had been lost to him since he came to a sudden awareness over a bleeding body; the life has been squeezed and cut from his throat. It was simple and messy – unorganized. Panic built quickly as Will had stumbled back from the body: a middle aged man whose eyes were half open and the life from his irises was gone – faded as his pupils expanded. The victim's skin was now an ashen gray as the oxygen depleted from his blood.

 

There's no way he could have done this – _no way_ , Will thinks, but there's an unfortunately clear ringing in the back of his mind: _do you not know who you are_?

 

Except its not his voice that responds in his mind, it's Hannibal's.

  
_I know who I am_.

  
Suddenly, Will sees it -- _thinks_ he sees it clear as day, as though he was recreating the crime scene behind his eyes. It couldn't have been more than two hours before when he taken by the shoulder and turned around.

 

“Will.”

 

He sucks a breath through his teeth because the hand on his shoulder is real – too real and his hands are already red with blood. It's not right, he thinks, _something's not right_ – and it is then that he sees Hannibal in front of him with his hand on his shoulder; a gentle pressure in his otherwise spinning world. Despite the fact that Hannibal's grounding hand is there keeping him measured, he still feels like he can't catch his breath. A numbness that he hadn't realized was there fades, and Will become acutely aware of his freezing fingertips. When he meets Hannibal's stare, he fails to find the ability to place a finger on the expression he holds on his face as his head is tilted inquisitively. _Like he's just watching._ He's sure that he feels at least two of Hannibal's fingers against the side of his neck – the sudden warmth a stark contrast to the cold that has seeped past his bones.

 

Before he can think any further about it, the warmth is gone and Hannibal is shifting up from his crouch, hand carefully placed under Will's forearm. As his thumb slips near the crook of his elbow, he applies that same gentle pressure that he felt on his shoulder. A signal to move.

 

“Will. Let's see you inside. Come.”

 

A chill runs it's way through Will's body, and unable to dare himself to look back because part of him has a desperate hope that he will wake up and this nightmare will end.

 

–

 

Will comes to awareness again in a bathroom he does not recognize, but that he could only assume as Hannibal's. The countertops are a smooth granite, with a neat stack of two perfectly folded washcloths on the back of the toilet where he is seated. The space around the sink is immaculate, save for bottle of hand soap with a label that isn't in English. If it were a different situation, and Will wasn't questions whether he had killed a man or not, he might compare his sink and Hannibal's and how absurd it is to have that much counter space, being that his is cluttered at all times with at least several bottles of aspirin. His shoes have been removed. as well as his coat; neither of which are anywhere to be found in the space near him. Will's has a distinct tremor as he lowers his stare to his hands, which he is more than shocked to see are devoid of any of the blood he had seen before. There's a familiar burn in his fingertips, face, ears and toes – too long in the outside unprotected from the harsh of winter, and now finally adjusting to the warmth of inside.

 

Will is still inspecting his hands by the time that Hannibal steps back inside the bathroom, still looking crisp in his button down and slacks, sans tie, with his sleeves folded neatly to his elbows. In his hands, he carries two washcloths and a steaming mug of tea, the latter of which is placed on the edge of the counter nearest to Will. Hannibal steps around him to seat himself at the edge of the tub, and its only then, as Will is turning to watch him, that he sees the small pile of red-soaked hand towels. What once was a pristine white has now faded to a macabre scene in the floor of the bathtub and Will suddenly feels sick.

 

“This – this can't be real.” Will is not even sure that he's spoken so much as he's thought it as he turns from the tub and leans forward, his hands taking the weight of his head before threading in through his curls. There is a cold sweat that has run through him, leaving a sheen of sweat on his forehead and down his neck, past the collar of his shirt.

 

It's Hannibal's voice that breaks through his overloaded mind. “It's 3:14 am, and you're in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Will-”

 

“I know my name!” Will's voice nearly shouts over Hannibal's, desperate to make sense of the last few hours. His head lifts from his hands and he looks furious for a moment before the expression fades. “I don't – I don't know what happened.” His breath is caught in his throat as he speaks, somehow finding it in himself to look across to Hannibal, whose hands are still poised with one of the washcloths he brought, presumably from downstairs. Hannibal exudes calm, but unfortunately, Will finds himself unable to match what Hannibal is offering.

 

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, as though the answer to that should have been quite obvious to Will. “It seems you ran into an altercation.” When Will's face deadpans and his stare flattens, Hannibal continues. “I arrived shortly after you called me. Do you remember our phone call, Will?” Hannibal is sure that Will does not, but he asks regardless – to allow Will to try and collect his thoughts.

 

The look that comes from Will is one of a broken man – certainly not the same man that just shouted in Hannibal's bathroom. A misguided shake of his head follows slowly and unevenly. The bathroom spins and it's all Will can do to shut his eyes and let his head drop into his hands again. It's a good twenty seconds of Will trapped in his own thoughts, burning in the forefront of his mind before he feels Hannibal's hand at the back of his head , fingertips barely reaching the nape of his neck. With his other hand, he reaches to lift Will's head carefully at his chin.

 

When Will looks up, it's the same countenance of Hannibal's that he meets – that _almost_ pleased expression, and Will is sure he sees it wrong, but it's suddenly before quite apparent to him that Hannibal's hand hasn't left his chin. Hannibal's eyes briefly narrow, as though he were studying Will in that moment – a specimen molding to his desires, before his hand leaves the nape of his neck and reaches to the side of the tub, only to return with the now cooled washcloth to press against Will's flushed cheek.

 

Like a freight train hitting a concrete wall, Will feels everything out of his control come to a reeling stop. Hannibal's head is tilted just enough to have him looking down upon Will, his hand moving from Will's cheek to his temple with a care that one would save for fine china. It's something that scares Will, feeling so... _grounded_. His thoughts fade, and for a brief, blissful moment his mind doesn't feel like so much of a prison anymore.

 

It's gone as quickly as it comes, and by the time Hannibal is finishing cleaning the smear of blood from his cheek, Will looks suspicious.“You don't seem to have a problem with any of this.”

 

Hannibal sits back and tilts his head very slightly, regarding Will for a moment before he raises his eyebrows, as though Will's statement were some small surprise to him. “So it seems. Should I have a problem, Will?”

 

If Will wasn't paying attention to every detail in Hannibal's expression, he wouldn't notice the briefest amused look from him, like a challenge. For Hannibal, it is a challenge. A challenge of which he has been carefully playing the all of the pieces of Will to work out the way that he best sees fit. Though he hasn't decided exactly how he wants this game to end, because he has grown quite fond of the profiler seated in front of him.

 

There is a heat that rises in Will, a stir of fear and anxiety. He swallows carefully, finding it difficult to work his mouth around the words he chooses carefully. “Have you cleaned up my mess, Dr. Lecter? Like you cleaned up Abigail's?” His voice betrays him, breaking mid-sentence like his mind should be doing, and his expression has contorted to something close to anguish.

 

Hannibal has leaned in, further than Will remembers him being, looking nearly unreadable. He meets Will's stare with his own for a brief moment before he is suddenly shifting back and pushing himself to his feet. He reaches down enough to push the stray curls from Will's forehead, palm settling against his skin long enough to feel for his temperature before he turns his back to gather up the discarded hand towels from the tub. “Your tea should be cooled, Will. Excuse me for a moment.” Will feels his stomach turn again when he spots the flash of red carried out in Hannibal's arms.

 

For a moment, Will want to forget the tea. He sees himself taking the mug and the liquid sloshing out as he makes a grand display of pitching it against the wall of the shower, raining broken pieces across the bathroom. When he actually has the mug in his hands, its much more comforting than he initially thought. At the first sip, it's herbal and lightly sweetened. The liquid is still warm enough to let a pleasant heat rise his temperature. He's finished the mug by the time that Hannibal returns, who has the briefest of small smiles once he sees it empty.

 

“A blend of dried chamomile and yarrow flower, sweetened with a simple syrup.”

 

Will looks back to Hannibal, uneasy for the fact that he's waiting for something from Hannibal that he isn't sure he wants to hear. “As much as I appreciate the tea, you still never answered my question.”

Hannibal's expression remains even and unfaltered as he watches Will, who was almost squirming in his seat despite somewhat calming blend of tea that Hannibal had given him in an attempt to ease his mind. Will was one he needed to be careful with, as the wrong move would easily set Will off bring their carefully constructed world crashing down between the both of them. Fortunately, Hannibal wasn't one to make wrong moves.

 

“Our conversation may be better suited outside of these four walls.” He steps aside, only continuing once Will had shifted to his feet. “Perhaps the first thing you must ask yourself is whether you are seeking to confirm your fears, or deny them.” Hannibal turns in his direction as Will steps through the doorway, who then stops mere inches from Hannibal, his fists briefly tightening and his shoulders rolling back. “I – ..”

 

Hannibal's hand is on his shoulder before Will can think to turn around to face him, and Hannibal steps up to lend his voice not far from Will's ear. “It would be wise to think before you answer, dear Will.” Without missing a beat, Hannibal's head tilts ever so slightly to the right, and something in his expression changes. Will can't put his finger on it, maybe it's the light in the room, but there's a light of amusement in Hannibal's eyes that Will thinks shouldn't be there – followed by the briefest hint of a smile. “If you could remember – if you were sure, would the thought that you ended someone's life bring about that sprig of zest?”

 

A moment of silence passes, and Will is unable to take his eyes from Hannibal's curious stare. Will's eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrow as he regards Hannibal incredulously. “I don't – I don't understand, are you _happy_ about this, Dr. Lecter? Is this entertaining for you?” There's a genuine hurt in Will's expression, and he's fairly sure that beyond the edge of this conversation, he will have the same feeling he gets every time he sees Jack.

 

_Used._

 

Will shakes his head to himself and scoffs and Hannibal still have that same expression, which is almost enough for Will to want to shake it out of him. By the time he visualizes that unfortunate image, he realizes that Hannibal has closed the space between them. The next step that Will takes back is right into the wall, and he looks up, meeting Hannibal's stare with his own uncertain one. “Not entertaining, Will. I'm pleased at the possibility for you to have reached such an enlightening experience. Freedom of feeling, imagination, and thought. Acting upon the desires you have hidden so deep and are so afraid to face.”

 

Hannibal's fingers have reached Will's temple, brushing a two unruly curls back into place. “A beautiful transformation, if you will.” Will's throat is tight – too tight, and he isn't sure whether he should scream out the frustration or laugh because it could be true. A grand vision of escape fills his panicked mind, too overloaded with possibilities he never wanted to entertain. The moment Hannibal's fingers touch his temple, Will freezes – his breath stills, and his mind stops racing. The panic fades to an ebb and flow, and it's quiet enough for him to hear himself blink.

 

It's an intoxicating thing to Will. Silence. The sound of his own swallow fills his ears, something he's fairly sure he's never heard. He forgets to breathe as Hannibal's fingertips linger just behind his ear. Just as he remembers to inhale, his next breath of stolen by Hannibal as he closes his mouth over Will's, his lips a gentle and insistent pressure against Will's. The press of Hannibal against him, leaning him in against the wall comes slow and gentle, like the lift of a breeze coming off the ocean – its never enough to lift a wave, but enough to quench the heat of the sun.

And suddenly, that's all Will feels – the heat. Hannibal's hand has shifted the side of his neck, fingers following the curve, and his other hand has found it's way just underneath the hem of his shirt. Will's head is spinning, and he's clawing to get out of the dangerous hole he;s found himself sinking into, but there's a stirring inside him that makes him so very desperately just want to _let go_.

 

And he does – the moment Hannibal's thumb slides with just enough pressure for him to feel the weight of his hand over line of the front of his throat. He's sure he even hears Hannibal whispering those very words – to _let go, surrender_ , the reward for doing so standing very handsomely in front of him. Hannibal's breath is at the shell of his ear and Will's head drops back slowly, his eyes slipping shut, and Hannibal catches the base of his skull with his fingertips, sending a chill down Will's spine.

 

He doesn't realize they've even moved to the bed before Hannibal is laying him back, arranging him in such a reverent way, all gentle ghosts of touch as if one wrong move would break Will completely. Instead, Hannibal keeps Will teetering, on he very edge of his sanity – as he knows that the line that has been crossed is one that requires a careful hand and an even more careful guidance. He was always interested in Will – clinically and of his own volition, to see what of Will he could use for himself, what he could bring out in him. Hannibal meets the moment with nothing but a surge of pride in Will of the way that he has played this game so very, _very_ well.

 

When Will lets his eyes open, the world has stopped moving, and he's staring at Hannibal's ceiling. His hands meet the bedsheets, fingers briefly clenching in the expensive fabric. His thoughts surface the waters of his mind, clawing to get free – and just as soon as they surface, Hannibal's thumb is at his chin, running along the side of his jaw like he sensed the thoughts in Will rising that would tell him to run from the man encouraging him to embrace that dark side of himself. Will breaths out a sigh, and Hannibal smiles, pleased. “Good, Will. It's important you center yourself. Stay in the moment. Relax.” Will nods in an obedient way, his own thick swallow the only sound he hears again. There's a breath of something – relief, perhaps.

 

Hannibal removes Will's clothes like he's a beautiful thing that isn't damaged at all – only needs to be shaped, molded and polished until he's gleaming bright red in the blood of his own work. He would like to think that this game won't end with Will on his dinner table at last, but every thing has an end – and that end is not yet near. Will is a blank canvas now, and he must paint his own picture – and Hannibal will only guide, he won't force. He knows and _sees_ the potential of Will; the possibilities of what he can create. All these thoughts culminate to nothing more than a smile from Hannibal, and a softer expression – like he sees beyond the flesh of Will as it's exposed. He sees his true potential in even his nakedness and that in itself is a thing that needs to be appreciated like the thing of beauty that it is.

 

Hannibal takes Will in his hand, fingers slick with something that smells of lavender. It's only when Will's skin is slick with a sheen of sweat and he's gripped the bedsheets again that he brings his hand to a stop, though he still keeps it poised, clutched around him as Will makes a rather valiant attempt to try and catch his breath. Hannibal's other hand smooths up Will's belly, eyes traveling along his bared skin. It is in that moment that Hannibal appreciates the work of art laid out before him. Every masterpiece has it's flaws, and Will's are out for the world to see. Hannibal will reshape him, and see that those pieces are put back together in a way that will only see Will stronger than ever. For that though, Hannibal will see come come apart completely at his own doing.

 

Will comes only when Hannibal lets him, when he finally is ready to see Will for the thing of beauty that he is, when he comes completely unraveled and his hips are twitching and he's all but gasping for breath. He doesn't beg – Will finds himself almost not wanting it to end. The silence between his ears is deafening, and for the first time he truly _feels_. His hands are knuckle-white against the sheets and he reaches release in a near silence, his neck completely exposed as he head presses back into the plush of Hannibal's bed.

 

As Will in catching his breath, Hannibal presses his clean hand against Will's forehead, a cool touch in his overheated world. His hand remains for a moment before he shifts to his feet to retrieve a damp cloth. It's after he's seen to Will that Hannibal presses his hand to his forehead again, softer this time. Will rouses, his head turning and his eyebrows raising, but he doesn't open his eyes. Hannibal finds himself smiling again, just a ghost of one – because Will shows him the one thing that he was looking for in that very unguarded moment.

 

_Trust._

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting anything in public. i had fun, and i hope you enjoyed. :3


End file.
